


Letters

by Dirthabro



Series: Inquisitor's Nocturne [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Codex Entries (Dragon Age), F/M, Light Angst, Mentions of Sexual Content, Mentions of Violence, Mutual Pining, Trespasser Spoilers in Last Chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14213445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirthabro/pseuds/Dirthabro
Summary: Words on paper can describe the nature of the Inquisitor's relationship with Cullen, but mostly as a formality. Does not actually contain many letters.Vaguely inspired by Cullen's Inquisition Codex of the letters exchanged between him and his sister. Contains some codex letters, and some non-canon but canon-friendly ones.





	1. Search

The first time, she searched for a letter.

Sa’lyn had been in his office - Cullen’s small, secluded tower away from the main halls of Skyhold. It was a formal visit, per the norm of guaranteeing that the Inquisition would be a force against Corypheus. 

He hadn’t been in there yet. She was fond of surprise visits. Farilis would have called her paranoid if not for their shared history, and Sa’lyn would have to agree. This Tevinter Darkspawn had shaken her to her core, and for the first time in a long time, she had true fear. It paced at the back of her mind like a feral animal that sensed her weakness. So she busied herself with looking at his quarters.

His desk was a mess, understandably. Letters of solidarity were stacked high with seals of approval from noble houses, inevitably pledging their allegiance. There was no doubt they had originally come from Josephine with a particular count for their armed soldiers for him to take into account for their battles to come. 

She slid some to the side with an armored glove. Some orders and requests. More formal letters. Nothing _personal_.

Learning the weaknesses of a person was essential to her. That was how she functioned before the Inquisition as an assassin and a thief. If she didn’t know what he was made of, then how could she fully trust a man with leading her armies? It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust him - Haven was proof enough. Even the concern he showed as she thrust herself back into the throes of Red Templars had--

She shook her hand to dispel the thought, a clench in her jaw and posture. No. There was no time for indulgences on a man that - while seemed to reciprocate her advances - controlled the armies of the Inquisition. There was still the immediate need to rebuild and fix their keep they were currently residing in, and the news that Hawke brought with her arrival was unsettling. Even with her stumbling into a cruel and unforgiving future had her doubting so much more.

The letters crinkled as she moved them around further, preserving them so it would not reflect on her minor curiosity. It wasn’t snooping if she was his superior, surely. She saw him as an equal more than she did as ruling over him. 

A half-written letter peeked out from under the latest stack. Her curiosity piqued, and she slid it side to side to release it.

It was his own handwriting - a crisp, trained script that made her own balk in comparison. It would win no favors with their Orlesian company for being decorative, but it was clean enough to where any well read soldier could get to work. 

‘ _Mia -_

__

__

_The Inquisition is safe, we have relocated to a place in the Frostbacks. They call it Skyhold - it was probably grand once. We have an Inquisitor now; the woman who fell from the rift. Inquisitor Lavellan is intent on -_ ’

The letter stopped there. Part of her wondered who ‘Mia’ was. The familiar tone in the letter implied history.

She glanced down to where other pieces of paper were crumpled up. They were headed similar to the half-written one on the desk.

It must be hard. Simple pleasantries. She knew very well she was similar, considering recent events.

She refused to take certain pieces of her armor off for long periods of time after they arrived, such as her gauntlets and chestpiece. They thought Haven would be untouched, but they were wrong. They lost so many people, and Corypheus had struck a blow to the core of the people. They looked to her for resolve. 

Sa’lyn Lavellan. The only person on Thedas that could seal rifts. A woman who once resorted to petty thievery and outright murder to preserve her clan. Inquisitor.

She stepped away from the desk, all the perilous thoughts and fears of recent swimming in her head. A long inhale and an even longer exhale cleared the haze from her mind briefly, for a second. She didn’t feel comfortable in a castle. The walls may be a shield but they were also a cage. She could not run, she could not hide. He was coming for her, and she would have to stop him or die trying.

The Anchor flared, and she clenched the cursed hand. Creators damn this, damn the mark, damn the scarred heavens. Where was her break, her mercy? Where was the divine intervention that so many people seemed to see? There was no Maker that had saved her twice. It was her own doing, and it was apparent she was alone.

The door creaked open, and Sa’lyn looked to regard the person with a rush to regain composure. It was Cullen, with both eyes trained on whatever document he had brought with him. One hand closed the door, and it was apparent he hadn’t noticed her yet.

She couldn’t help the brief flutter in her chest, despite her damning thoughts. She cleared her throat, and he nearly jumped out of his armor at the realization she was there.

What she wouldn't give to see _that_.

“Inquisitor! I had no idea you were here.” His face was tinged pink - from the chill or embarrassment she could not tell.

“I just wanted to check and see how things were.” She gestured to the stack of papers on his desk. “You’ve been busy.”

“Yes, well,” he seemed to straighten himself to prepare for the formal answer. “We have received an influx of support from our allies. Josephine has been keen on directing them to me.”

She let a small smile slip. “I can see that.”

“We’ve been able to set up an outpost in the valley and beyond, thanks to them. Even the Crown has sent a detachment to secure a path to Ferelden. I’ve sent a platoon to assist them when the snow eases.”

“Good.” She nodded.

There was a pause from either of them. Words wanted to fill the silence, but unsure of exactly how to do so.

“How have you been?” Her words seemed more put together than she was. “After… Haven.”

It felt hard to say those words. She could pretend nothing happened that night after they sealed the Breach in the sky. But that was a lie, and she had done enough of it to know that this was no time to hide behind illusions.

“Formally, busy.” He put the paper he brought in on the desk. “If you will pardon the informality, I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m okay.”

She cursed herself at the lie.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been better.”

That was closer to the truth. 

“You and your sister - we were worried that neither of you survived after Haven.” The confession didn’t surprise her. She went into battle with the intention to sacrifice herself for the sake of many, and she lived. “I- we wanted to send a search party to the avalanche, but we weren’t sure where we were, and if Corypheus was following us.”

She loosely nodded her head, eyes moving from him to stare at his desk. The healers had done wonders on herself - her cracked ribs had been mended and her scrapes were gone. But she still had the scars to prove her hesitation. 

“I thought I was going to die. To see so much destruction, the screaming, the…” She couldn’t help the words that spilled from her. “I thought I was going to lose more than my life, I thought…” Her words trailed off, letting the meaning hang in the air with the uncertainty of saying it. _I was going to lose my sister, the Inquisition, and you. It would be my fault for not being prepared and letting Corypheus kill us._

“You saved the Inquisition. Don’t doubt yourself.” His hand rested on her shoulder, and she could feel lightning pass through his touch. “We wouldn’t be here if not for you. We will not lose Skyhold as we did Haven, you have my word.”

Her breath felt short. His words had been said by others, but coming from him made the meaning feel stronger.

“Thank you, Cullen.” She tried to smile. It was a weak thing, but an attempt.

He removed his hand, and it was obvious he tried to move the conversation to a lighter note. “Iron Bull asked to have a small tourney once the bulk of the troops have recovered. For morale.”

She laughed a little, expecting such a thing from him. “I should go tell him I approve, I want to join.”

“Truly, that might draw a bigger crowd. And maybe a smaller roster.”

She raised an eyebrow, but they were still smiling. “I can wear a disguise.”

“It will spare you the shame of losing.”

“As if!” She laughed, and his smile broke out into a grin.

“You might be good, Inquisitor, but I train our soldiers very well.”

“Then I’d like to see you fight me.”

The remark was simple, but filled with earnest. Sparring back with her clan was a way to settle bets, pass the time, and to grow closer with one another.

It wasn’t courting, but this would have to be an exception.

“It can’t hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a small fluffish series of Cullen/Sa'lyn in the DAverse. The latest chapter of FiGG should be out soon, as well as Vigil. 
> 
> Enjoy! And I love comments, so drop one if you have any questions or comments. ♡


	2. Piece

“We have our own version of chess, you know.”

Cullen moved his pawn, regarding her with a look that seemed to prompt her to elaborate.

“It has a few more sides, but it’s been played since the Dales.”

Sa’lyn crossed her legs. It was still rather early in the game - either of them had only moved a few pieces 

“I would think most people have their own version.”

She agreed with a nod, opting to move a piece of her own and signal his turn. She was no master strategist, but she knew the premise of chess. Cards appealed to her far more considering she could read faces.

“Where did you learn to play?”

Another move. Pawn. 

“My sister and I used to play as children. She used to get this stuck up grin every time she won - which was all the time.” There was a small grin on Cullen’s face at the mention. “My brother and I practiced for weeks, and the look on her face when I finally won… I haven’t seen them in years, between being a Templar and the Inquisition.”

“I didn’t know you had siblings.” She leaned forward to move her piece, her eyes skimming the board for the easiest way to victory. “What are they like?”

He shifted in his seat, at ease about the question. “Two sisters and a brother: Mia, Rosalie, and Branson. They moved to South Reach after the Blight, although Mia is the one to write me most. She’s particularly keen on tracking me down.”

It explained who it was that he was trying to write to, as she noted several weeks ago. There was a simplicity with the way he spoke about his family. She liked to think she was similar with the way she spoke about Farilis, but it was wishful thinking.

Cullen moved next, gesturing towards her.

“What about you?”

“Well, you know Farilis is my twin. Other than her and my mother, I have no immediate family.” She rested back into her chair, letting the sun wash over her. “I have plenty of cousins in other clans, but no one in Lavellan. Family reunions at Arlathvhen are a mess - everyone remarks at how big you’ve gotten and you have no idea who they even are.”

He laughed at that, and she moved her piece with a smile.

“What about your father?”

The smile faltered.

“He died when I was young. Humans attacked my clan and killed him.” She looked across the courtyard to the small sermon being given by a Sister. “He was a great man, and a better teacher. He showed me how to be who I am.”

“He sounded like a great person. I’m sorry.”

She stifled a sigh, opting to smile at him. “He was, although I don’t know if he’d like you.”

“Oh?” Cullen’s knight clicked as a sign of the end of his turn. 

“He was an escaped apostate from a Circle. My mother met him by saving him from Templars.”

That seemed to surprise him, notably by the way his eyebrows shot up. “Now I see why you chose the mages as you did.”

“It’s more than that - I’m the only non-mage in my family for the last four generations,” she moved another piece, crossing her hands over her lap. “I’m unsure about my father, but everyone on my mother’s side is a mage except for me.”

There was a hesitation as he moved his next piece. Silence had fallen briefly over their game as the pieces moved. The conversation had gotten too personal too fast, and that was not typically how she started such discussions. Cullen was the only advisor she could be open with about her life outside of an Inquisition and being a Herald to Andraste. Leliana she could divulge her darker history to and Josephine with trying to understand the formalities of Human culture, but that wasn’t showing her hand. 

“I assume you have no mages in your family,” She broke the pause with the quiet remark, trying return back into their relaxed conversing. “I forget you used to be a Templar. Magic has always been in my life - I had even thought I would come into it some day.”

“It isn’t that - it’s just…” He sighed, and a hand ran through his hair. “I’ve seen the benefits and the dangers of it. Any mage can succumb to the effects of demons and become abominations.”

“I know.” She removed one of his pieces. “We have precautions.”

There was that damnable silence again. The wind whistled through the trees and lifted the Sister’s voice higher into the air. It droned on, and she watch him play his turn.

“What of your parents?”

“They died during the Blight.”

“Oh, _ir abelas_.”

He gave her a quizzical look, and she elaborated. “I’m sorry. I know how it feels, at least.”

“At least my siblings are safe - Maker willing they will stay as such. I don’t write them as often as I should.”

She watched him watch the board. Their moves had slowed from their overeager beginning to a more focused approach, gauging one another and their moves. 

Sa’lyn couldn’t help but notice how at peace he seemed. It was different than witnessing him shout orders - this side of Cullen was quiet and simple. She briefly wondered if he was like this every every time he was alone, or at least out of his office.

He moved a piece. “Check.”

She couldn’t help a playful smile. “I will personally see to it that you have a warm bath every day for a month if you forfeit.”

His eyes glanced up towards her’s, and her heart thudded like a bird trapped in a cage. They were a warm amber brown, like rocks that baked under the sun. It reminded her of home, traveling to where the Clan would settle next, looking out at the land and beyond.

“Do you think you’ll lose, Inquisitor?”

“Only offering you a chance of surrender, Commander.” 

Another piece was removed from the board, and the game continued. 

“I believe this is the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition - or current matters. To be honest I’m grateful for the distraction.”

“It’s nice,” she admitted. “With everything that’s happened, there hasn’t been much time to take a break.”

“I agree.”

“Check.”

She could see the beginnings of a frown pull to his face, and she rested back into her seat with one leg crossed over the other. He leaned towards the board to think, but Sa’lyn maintained her posture. It was cocky, confident, but he was the one about to lose, lest he think quickly.

Another move, and he was in the clear again. They were mostly silent as the game bore on, due to focusing more than anything. The sounds of Skyhold seemed a world away, with the chess game being the center of it all. 

“We should spend more time together.” 

His eyes shot up to met her’s. She held strong with his look, but there was the cursed fluttering in her chest again, and she started to doubt if she should have said that. She was about to elaborate before he spoke.

“I would… like that.” He looked caught off guard by her remark, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Me too.”

It was if for a minute, but it felt as if part of the world quieted with trying to understand the small conversation. Trying to identify the meaning behind it, the reason. She had no intentions of a double meaning - just being truly honest. 

He looked about ready to say something else before there were calls across the courtyard.

“Sa’lyn--”

“Commander!”

They turned to regard the new voices intruding on what had been a peaceful - if not slightly private - moment. A messenger was sprinting across the yard, followed slowly by the Inquisitor’s twin sister.

And neither of them looked too pleased.

Cullen stood up to regard them, and Sa’lyn couldn’t help a small, selfish pang. They weren’t finished yet, but whatever moment they were having was gone - intruded upon by the outside world.

“I have urgent news from the Western Approach,” the messenger panted as he dug into his bag. “And--”

Farilis was to her side shortly, lightly touching her sister’s hand to stop her from getting up. “Wait.”

“And-- Clan Lavellan.” The sound of letters being ripped from a bag were evident enough, and Sa’lyn honed in on the Dalish news being gripped proudly in the man’s hand.

Cullen reached for them, but instead they were dumped into Sa’lyn’s lap. She and him had several questions at the ready, but Farilis spoke up in his stead.

“He thought _I_ was the Inquisitor,” her tone was annoyed per the usual, with an accuratory note. “But after I said I would take the letters to you he went to find your Commander. Everyone said you were with him.” 

The messenger's proud look turned sheepish, and he saluted. “I thought she was an imposter, your Worship.”

Farilis rolled her eyes. Sa’lyn stood up from her seat, doing her best to _not_ appear as annoyed as she was. “This woman is acceptable to give my messages to in the future. Understood?”

“Yes, ser.”

She nodded to the messenger, and he spun off on his heel at the dismissal. Sa’lyn sat back into her seat, and Farilis tore the Dalish message from her lap and ripped it open. 

“I don’t know why the Keeper can’t be bothered to address me for the message,” Farilis grumbled. Not two seconds later she herself had taken off back into Skyhold.

Like that, they were alone again. The air had changed however, as if someone had taken a stone and thrown it into a pond. The message from the Western Approach was still sat in her lap, and she took it and stood up once more.

Cullen was watching her, perhaps the whole interaction between her, her sister, and the messenger. 

“I should probably see what her letter was about… and this one.”

“Right…”

The chess board sat half-finished between them, pieces scattered with no true victor.

“We should play another time, maybe when it’s less…” His voice drifted off, and she offered him a small smile.

“Less likely we’ll be disturbed?”

He laughed. “Quite.”

She left him standing in the courtyard alone to return to his own duties while she sought out her sister and the letter she had absconded with.


	3. Sword

The ride back from Adamant was treacherous and long. 

The Inquisition was victorious, but Cullen wondered at what cost when he caught the Inquisitor’s eye. 

After giving out the post-battle orders to either return to Skyhold or head to one of the other outposts, he saddled up to prepare for the ride back with the Inquisitor and her Circle. 

Cullen wasn’t foolish enough to lie to himself - when the battle messengers gave word that she had opened a rift and fallen through, he felt his heart sink. He had faith she could get herself out, but the fact stood that Inquisitor Lavellan had gone to the Fade and returned with a different demeanor. An altered way she carried herself. He could see the worry in her sister’s face the entire time they began preparations to return to Skyhold. Farilis was at her sister’s side, breaking only once to consult with a healer in regards to both of their injuries. If she was worried for her, then he couldn’t help but feel the same.

And now, they were headed home - the sun that was set high when they left was now close to setting. He rode towards the front near the Inquisitor but not exactly beside her. That was reserved for her sister, and she filled that position thoroughly. 

He avoided watching her too closely, mind wandering as they rode on. He never addressed the Inquisitor as her given name - he called it a matter of respect, but it was a half-truth. Several others called her by her given name in her Circle, and she called others rarely by their titles. 

It was more so the fact that it felt too personal. Too close, and too real all the same. She was a light in the darkness for so many - how could he not respect her?

_It isn’t a matter of respect_ , part of him argued. _You enjoy her far more than you should._

He gave a small shake of his head to dispel the thought. He had entertained the idea, certainly. She wasn’t unattractive. On the contrary, he thought she was quite nice to look at. Her hair was the color of a dying fire, and her eyes burned like the Breach in the sky. She had scars that told stories, but didn’t define her. She was ruthless with her daggers, he had known that since he first met her. Even with sparring her once before, he had seen her muscles flex in the Frostback sun, springing towards him with the intention of victory.

His heart fluttered. Physical attraction was one thing - he had been that way with many people in his life. But she was something else.

She seemed to care about him, about his input, about how he was doing.

That caused his heart to _ache_. 

He tried not to think about their odds. They were far better than how they had once been huddled in the snow after Haven’s destruction.

But he thought of her - dragging her way over the top of the hill, collapsing with her sister on her back into the snow from Haven. When he first saw her, after the explosion writhing on a cot with the Anchor fresh on her hand. Adamant.

And she lived.

She had faith in him - he had it in her.

He just wanted her to survive.

He noticed Farilis lean over to her sister, speaking too quietly for their companions to hear them. He strained to hear, but what he could hear was in an entirely different language. It was soft but urging, especially with the concern on her face.

The Inquisitor simply shook her head, and she turned to look back at Cullen. He had never seen her look so tired.

“Prepare to make camp for the night. There is a clearing up ahead.”

He nodded, and he squared himself up to relay the order to the rest of the Inquisition.

The response was like the flip of a switch. What was the expectation of a long road home quickly turned to pent up energy of wanting to rest. Soldiers and workers milled with setting up tents, and he oversaw that their tents be pitched properly lest they collapse on them in the night. Their horses were brought to a nearby stream, and a watch had been set. The sun’s last rays shone just as they finished.

After the fact, he laid on his cot and expected sleep to wash over him. He was tired - that much was true - but his mind continued to wander as if he hadn’t been slaying demon after demon at Adamant only a while before.

She was the Inquisitor.

_Sa’lyn_.

He tried to swallow, but his throat grew parched. The air in this region made him thirsty, but he knew that was an excuse. 

Knowing full and well he wouldn’t be able to sleep, he got up to wander the camp. He left his armor, but took his sword as a precaution given recent events. There were no people awake save for the guards that spoke to one another to pass the time. He didn’t regard them as he passed - they had all done enough within the past days. 

He went to the stream. Maybe there he could let his mind clear. 

It was quiet. The stars glittered cold and alone, a chart that the best cartographers could use to find their way home. Once he could name all of the constellations, but now it felt hard to recall a single name.

He looked back to the camp. They would not miss him if he went for a short walk. 

The gravel on the bank felt cold under his bare feet, but it was a nice alternative compared to the sand and pebbles that were seemingly permanently stuck in his boots. It grounded him, as did the chilly water that was now starting to soak his feet. 

It reminded him of home back in Ferelden, if only for a little bit. It was a world away from Corypheus, from the Red Templars and Venatori, and the pieces of his past that haunted him in his sleep. Here, it felt like the world seemed to stop for a moment.

He heard voices on the wind, from further down the stream. He gripped the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t withdraw it entirely. They sounded familiar. With his hand in place, he moved closer to them. He was curious, of course, but he wouldn’t intrude.

He was more so surprised to see it was _one_ voice - the Inquisitor’s.

It looked as if he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. She was sat on a rock in the middle of the stream, writing something intensely and with utmost passion. Her armor from the ride was still on, as well as being armed with her daggers.

“Telva, Eoshen, Jun’relas…”

They sounded more like names than the eloquent elven he had heard her speak before. 

“Deshanna.”

That was her Keeper.

“Farilis.”

His brow hardened.

“Inquisitor?”

She jumped up and around to face him despite the distance from the rock and his stance on the bank, and he had half the mind to back off. Her dagger had been drawn and held at the ready, but she relaxed when she saw who had disturbed her.

“Cullen, I... Sorry.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Can’t sleep.” She put her daggers down on the rock, along with the parchment she had been writing on. She sat back down on the rock, hands running through her short hair. “Not after Adamant, not after what I _saw_.”

“What did you see?”

Her eyes glinted in the light of the moons - she could see him far better than he could, that’s why elves made better guardsmen at night. He could feel her gaze piercing him, deciding. Considering.

“The death of everyone. My family, my clan, the Inquisition. Everything that I had ever fought for, sacrificed for. Gone.”

There was such a hollow note to her voice - she sounded mournful. As if they had already seen them died.

“Was that what you saw in the Fade?”

He saw her head nod, and she stared at him still. Her voice was a whisper. “I had to strike them down. They were corpses. I could tell who they were - the little nightmares were my clan and I had to kill them.” Her voice broke, the Anchor flashing bitterly like a beacon. “Creators - what if they all die and it’s because of me? As Inquisitor? Gods help me I couldn’t-- I can’t-- Not my sister, not one of them--”

She buried her face into her hands, growing silent. His heart grew tight at the sight - she was just as scared as he was. Maybe even more so, for failure or worse. 

His feet guided him before he knew what he was doing. The water came up to his calves by the time he got to the rock, and he sat on it next to her.

“Sa’lyn.”

She looked at him, and his heart ached. Tears had started to run down her cheeks. He had never seen her cry, not from injury or anger or even victory. She was a woman who looked to have been forged from steel, and she was broken by fear. 

“I know it wasn’t real, but for a moment I… I thought I killed them.”

He hesitated before he wrapped his arm around her shoulders - Maker knew words wouldn’t help in a time like this. She jumped at the contact before accepting it, leaning against him. Sa’lyn tucked herself into his side, knees curled tight against her chest. 

This wasn’t how he intended his advances with her to go. Not sitting in the middle of a stream in the night with her telling him of her fears. Alone. 

Yet, he didn’t move. Cullen kept his arm steady, opting to look up at the stars once more. 

“Do the Dalish have constellations?”

It was a dumb question - of course they did - but it was a trick he learned when it came to dealing with the nerve-wracking fear and panics just after Kirkwall. Ask questions that had to be solved. Learned away from the current issue.

She looked up at him, her fist brushing away her tears. Her face looked calm as she took in a breath to reply. “We do.”

“Which ones can you see from here?”

“Cullen…”

“Show me?” He went for and held her hand, feeling a small flash of gratitude when she didn’t flinch away. There was a moment where she looked to his hand and up to his face, searching for a reasoning, a motive. Then she took the lead with his hand, looking to the sky and pointing his to various strings of stars.

“ _Dar’Missan_. The Sword.” Her hand was warm, and he could feel her calluses on his own. It traced the line of a symbol that was seemingly immortal. “The bright tip always points north. Three stars for the blade with two as the hilt.”

They sat like that for what felt like hours. Sa’lyn explained what she knew of the stars to him, and he followed to the best of his attentions. He was drawn to her, resting the side of his head against her’s, their slow shifts bringing them closer and together. After a while, Sa’lyn was the one pointing and explaining, telling him of the tales she grew up with - of Emerald Knights protecting borders and myths that seemed like another world away. 

But he could see the light in her eyes. It was perfect, and Maker - Cullen didn’t want it to end. 

His hand brushed against her parchment from earlier, and she honed in and slid it away from him, as if it were an injury he had touched. She didn't pull from him, but she looked at the names.

There were dozens. He could only imagine how many more she intended to write down but had stopped. Cullen knew Clan Lavellan was having issues in the Free Marches, and the fact that the Nightmare demon in the Fade had played on it was sickening. 

“I miss them.”

She didn’t sound sad anymore. Homesick. 

“My mother is the Keeper. Deshanna. We’re not that close, but I miss her.” She shook her head, and her ginger hair tickled his cheek. “She was so, so proud the day I completed my hunter training. I was gone for almost a week, and she thought I got killed in the forest. After I got back to camp she crushed me in a hug and swore that my vallaslin would be done that night.”

“She sounds like she cares about you.”

“She has her moments.” She leaned back into him, staring out to the horizon with the paper in hand. “I often wonder, if I hadn’t lost my father, if she would be the same. She became so bitter, so cold when he died that I wondered if I lost both my parents.”

“Grief does that.”

“I know.”

He followed her sight to the horizon. There was no sign of daybreak, but it was only a matter of time.

“Thank you, Cullen. For this.” She looked up at him. There was no joking manner in her face, no flirtatious smirk. It was gratitude and honesty. “I couldn’t go to anyone, but you… I thank you for finding me.”

“If it had been me, I would appreciate the same.” He did his best to smile, but her eyes bore into him and caused his heart to tremble.

“I would have rather it been you than Farilis.” She looked away from him now, her eyes closed. “Creators, she asked me what I saw in the Fade. How do you tell someone that has been there with you in every waking moment that you killed them there?”

He ran a hand over her arm, simply listening. He would never be able to understand the bond between Sa’lyn and Farilis, but for a moment he could imagine it would be like a reflection that could walk, talk, and feel just as the other did.

“And after my family and clan, the Inquisition corpses and…” Her breath caught, and he could hear the paper crumple. “I will not watch and let those I love, those I care about die.”

The Inquisitor had a way with passionate words, it seemed. He nodded, silent but confirming that he knew and acknowledged her promise.

She tossed the paper into the stream, and it floated away into the darkness.

“Sa’lyn?”

“I will not mourn the living. Not when I can cherish them now.”

The soft cries of nature began soon enough with the calls of birds, and Cullen was the first to untangle from their quiet moment. His back ached from sitting on the rock, but he had no regrets. Sa’lyn looked to start reaching for him, but stopped short when he looked to her. 

“I’ll… See you back at camp, alright?”

“Alright.”


	4. Blue

Sa’lyn was very good at reading people. It came with time, practice, and having to do it to prevent herself from being stabbed every time she went for the kill.

She could tell something was amiss with Cullen with the way he was short with _everyone_. Far more than usual, even. He snapped at recruits in such a way she thought he was going to bite their heads off during inspection, and the people who usually milled around him at every given moment gave him a wide berth.

He had told her of his former lyrium usage. Dalish had no use for Templars, but she knew well enough of what it was and its’ dangers from word of mouth. 

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together during the late meeting in the War Room. The impatient way he bounced on his feet was a telling sign, followed by the semi-permanent scowl he wore at the discussion of their move on the Winter Palace after she had come back from the Emerald Graves. It was mostly about the posturing they would have to do to ensure they weren’t kicked out upon arrival, but his reaction was outlandish, even for him.

“Dancing, Inquisitor, is custom enough for Orlesian gatherings,” Josephine gave her a pointed nod. “I cannot recommend enough that _everyone_ attending should be taking classes for the ball.”

“I agree,” Leliana spoke up with an affirming dip of the head. “It is tradition.”

“You can’t be serious.” Cullen's tone was indignant. “Can’t we skip the dancing and just pretend to play nice?”

“Do you _want_ us to be kicked out of Halamshiral? We are not bystanders.” Leliana crossed her arms, now staring down the Commander. “If anything, the dancing is a cover for our true intentions.”

Sa’lyn watched her advisors. Despite her lack of living with humans, it was apparent she would be forced to adapt to their customs.

“I don’t know the first thing about Orlesian dancing.”

“That’s why you will have lessons, Inquisitor. From only the finest, of course!” Josephine honed in on her, while Cullen and Leliana continued their stare-down. “It is imperative that we look our best, considering they will look down upon you.”

Sa’lyn knew her meaning well enough.

“Because it isn’t enough that I have to face Corypheus.”

“It is only for one night. We simply have to stop the assassination on Empress Celene, and we can return to Skyhold.”

She could see where Cullen’s annoyance came from. 

“It will be enough to get our soldiers into the palace - I won’t be participating in… Orlesian nonsense. Not with a killer on the loose.”

“Everyone who plays the Game will know something is amiss if you do that.”

“Who cares about a stupid game - it won’t matter if we’re all dead.”

“We _will_ be dead if you don’t take this seriously, Commander.”

“Enough.” Sa’lyn moved her palm in a sweeping motion over the table, silencing her advisors. “Arguing won’t settle this. We can talk more about it later.”

The meeting was over soon after that, notably with Cullen and Leliana shooting annoyed glances at one another when they thought Sa’lyn wasn’t looking. She didn’t linger in the War Room, roaming to find a quiet place in Skyhold where she wouldn’t be swarmed or harassed by people wanting the Inquisitor’s attention. She had only arrived back from southern Orlais, and with the overwhelming amount of information she learned of the Dales - she wanted to have time to think. 

Seeing more relics of what her people once had made her bitter, and it would poison her heart if she allowed it.

The battlements were a go-to, for the most part. Considering dusk had fallen and Skyhold had calmed down significantly, she was far less likely to run into anyone with a question or concern. It was still a possibility, however.

And thus, she was sat on the armory’s roof overlooking Skyhold’s quiet courtyards. No one bothered to look up there, and she had developed a habit of sitting on roofs when scouting out potential hits.

Now her petty thievery and kills were far more than that. It wasn’t thieving if it was taken in the name of the Inquisition, or even outright given to her. And killing - she had bloodied her hands to the point she wondered if the smell of iron would go away, or if it was simply a trick of the mind. Her armies marched to her command. Nations begged her for salvation. 

The mark flickered - an intrusion of her thoughts. She clenched her fist.

No one carried such a burden - and who else could? She would have never volunteered for the position of saving Thedas, but it was apparent everyone else saw something in her she couldn’t see. Every eye was on her - from Orlais to Orzammar to the Anderfels to the Fade, that much was obvious from Adamant.

The door to the Armory slammed shut and she peered over the edge at the racket. In the night she could see Cullen storming away, up the stairs towards the battlements and towards his lone tower. It was clear enough that he was in no better mood than one he was in earlier. 

Her curiosity carried her before she knew what she was doing. She slid down the side off the roof facing the walls of the battlement, climbing up the short ways and onto the solid rock. No guards were patrolling there in the moment, much to her relief for privacy. She wanted to be alone, but her questions to be answered. 

She didn’t encounter anyone further, sticking to the shadows to navigate further. Skyhold was quiet up on the battlements, but she knew it would be louder if she went into the Herald’s Rest or the Great Hall. There it seemed as if no one rested, and everyone was having at their merriment for victories won thus far. 

The tower was dark for the most part. The small flicker of candlelight from the windows ruined the illusion of it being barren, but she herself had to admit that it felt cold. Not the natural cold that came with the Frostbacks, but a cold air. As if it were in the shade on an already cool day.

Sa’lyn had bigger fears than the cold. 

She pushed open the door to Cullen’s office, mindful of making too much noise to scare the man. Her eyes darted through the space, looking for him - landing on his desk where he was.

He was a sorry sight. His hair was a mess from what looked like him wringing it out endlessly from nerves or impatience or both. She could make out the bags under his eyes, accented by the long shadows cast by candles. He was half out out of his armor by the looks of it, his iconic fur coat nowhere to be seen. It made him smaller, if only a bit. He held his head in his hands with his elbows dug into his mass of papers and letters that filled his desk.

He was hurting, she could tell that much.

He didn’t move, but gave no acknowledgement that he knew she was even there. She pushed back on the door, willing it to close quietly. 

She stood there, facing her Commander in a moment of weakness. It felt wrong simply to see him suffer obviously - he hid his hurt as well as she did, but this was different. It was as visible as a festering cut.

“Are you alright?”

She mentally chided herself. Of course he wasn’t, and it was obvious. The last thing she even needed was her scaring the life out of him from her sneak-thief ways. 

“Does it look like I’m alright?”

He was at least aware. She brushed off the tone, staring him down now. 

Cullen was never aggressive with her, and this was no different - annoyed and irritated, but she could tell the difference between that and outright hostility.

She moved to his desk, sitting on the edge uninvited. “I saw you leaving the armory. I wanted to see how you were doing, considering what happened at the War Table earlier.”

“I’m sure your concerns can be put towards more pressing matters.”

Sa’lyn had half the mind to snap back a witty reply, but instead she bit her tongue and sighed through her teeth. 

“Cullen.”

“Inquisitor.”

She could only be so patient.

“I was under the impression we were calling each other by our names in private, not titles. Unless you want me to be formal with you, _Commander_ , in which that can be arranged.”

They stared each other down. His lack of tolerance to irritation rivaled her’s in some ways, but it matched her stubbornness more than anything.

It was obvious he hadn’t slept well while she was in southern Orlais. From her staring at him alone she could note far more than anticipated about his fatigue.

He broke their contact first, his eyes flicking away to a dark corner of the room. 

“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing you can control, I’m certain.” A free hand of his ruffled his hair briefly. He looked less annoyed and more tired now. “It will pass. It always does.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help somehow.” She leaned closer to him, trying to diffuse the tension of sharp words mere minutes ago. “At least let me be here for you.”

He didn’t respond, and she did nothing to fill the silence. There was nothing to be said - her presence was enough. She was not an oblivious woman - she knew what attraction was. She had previous trysts before the Inquisition, it was simply a matter of acting on it. Considering Cullen had reciprocated her own advances was a clear enough sign. To her own knowledge, she was the only one involved with him, even if that involvement was dancing around an unsaid agreement.

She reached for his hand that was lying flat on his desk and took it into her own, balling his hand and running her thumbs over his knuckles. He didn’t lash out and take his hand back, surprising her a bit considering how short he was being.

His hands were freezing, even for being in the Frostbacks. She knew he was as hot-blooded as Farilis, so part of her wondered if it was a side effect from his withdrawals. 

“Are they always this bad?”

His answer wasn’t immediate.

“I let it get to me.”

Her lips pulled into a sad smile. 

“You didn’t. You’re still here - still you.”

“But for how long?”

She had no answer for him, bringing his fist close to her chest and holding it within her hands. He did not look at her directly, staring into the darkness of his tower.

“Did you get any sleep when I was in Orlais?”

“Some.”

“But not enough.”

He didn’t respond. The hand she was holding flexed and clenched slightly, as if he was trying to accommodate his own flesh.

“How are we supposed to win a war against a _creature_ that can control Wardens, Templars, and Orlesians?” His voice was octaves lower than normal, almost like a deep hum. “So much is at stake, and it is as if he’s one step ahead.”

“We’ve kept up with him pretty well.”

“For now, perhaps. But what if he succeeds in Halamshiral? What will we do then, when he wins them over?”

They were trading rhetorical questions back and forth like blows from a sword. 

“Have faith, Cul.” She squeezed his hand, and he looked up towards her. It was a sentiment he had echoed to her before.

He snorted, but didn’t disagree. 

“Rosalie always called me Cul.”

The topic change was a welcomed sight.

“Your younger sister?”

“By a few years. Mia said she had been doing good in her recent letter.”

That part left a smile on his face, mirroring her own.

“It sounds like they’re alright.”

“For now.”

She hid away her own inhibitions. There was no doubt she worried about her family and clan. It was easy to think that the conflict couldn’t reach them, but she was wrong. 

“I’d like to meet your family, sometime.”

Color rose to Cullen’s cheeks, and he reeled slightly. 

“What?”

Sa’lyn shrugged as a lazy smile formed to his reaction. “Your family. They must be interested in the Inquisition - you can’t shoot an arrow and not hit someone curious about us nowadays.”

“I _suppose_ , but there are thousands of things to do, and I can’t abandon my duties as Commander, considering we have the march to the Winter Palace soon, and I refuse to be put aside days of work…”

She brought his fist up, pressing a brief kiss to his knuckles as a way to break his stream of consciousness. It worked out well enough, seeing as how he was clenching his hand tighter than ever and his mouth looked ready to say a dozen things, but no words came out. His flustered appearance emboldened her, making her heart race.

It was cute.

“It’ll be alright - it has been so far.” She watched him carefully. “We’ve survived worse than a few days of paperwork.”

“You, perhaps.” He snorted. “But getting behind on troop movements and supply lines is welcoming chaos.”

“One day wouldn’t hurt you.”

He gave her a challenging look. It wasn’t aggressive, but opening the question on if it truly wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’m serious.”

He didn’t respond, and she returned his hand back to him as a peace offering. 

“Get some sleep, okay? And think about it.”

“I… will make no promises, Sa’lyn.” He flashed her a sad smile. “But I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. A lot's happened in a month. 
> 
> FIGG's latest chapter is almost done, just needs a bit more tailored and it'll be up. I've been trying to challenge myself to write faster/more but it's hard when life sucker punches you. 
> 
> Also, EDEN is amazing in concert. He's the inspo for half my work and shit. I kinda reference him in FIGG chapters but he's just my lifeblood okay?
> 
> As always, comment and kudos give me life. ♡


	5. Wine

“Birthplace?”

“Honnleath, in Ferelden.”

“Close to Val Firmin.” 

Sa’lyn took a swig from the bottle of wine, handing it to Cullen after swallowing.

“Your turn.”

He hummed, contemplating the bottle. It was something Orlesian that was haphazardly given to them by a royal envoy, not that it mattered now.

“Do you speak anything besides the King’s tongue?”

“Elvhen. Some Orlesian.” She leaned back against the headboard of her bed, throwing her legs over his lap to avoid scattering the piles of paper on the bed. “Tiny bit of Dwarven.”

“Dwarven?” He snorted at the response. “How do you know _Dwarven_?”

“We traded sometimes. Learn a few words, mostly insults. Taught them some back.” 

She smirked at him, and he grinned. They were a bottle in, and she could feel her tongue slipping the more they drank. It had been a simple invitation with her asking him to join for a drink as a break from the endless throes of paperwork - now it had descended into them quizzing one another without the typical formalities required of them.

“What about you? Only plain language?” She couldn’t help her teasing.

“I know a few insults from mages that got transferred between Circles. And Dorian.”

“I don’t know if he should count.”

Cullen drank from the bottle, disregarding her conditional statement. 

She watched him. Him. Cullen. 

She had no idea if her face was hot from the alcohol or the burning lust that seemed to have her enamored. Every breath felt like a wanted suffocation, especially when they brushed against one another.

They barely danced around feelings at this point. It was only a matter of crashing together.

He passed the bottle to her, and she drank deep. She could feel his eyes on her, roaming over every inch of her, as if inquiring about every moment she had lived and every part of her that had existed.

The wine was awful, considering it was supposedly expensive. 

She swallowed, meeting his look.

“Ever truly loved someone before?”

His already red face grew darker, and he averted her look.

“I suppose,” he confessed. “There was once a mage, back in Ferelden, but she was my ward.” He shook his head. “It would never have worked.”

“Never acted upon it?”

“No.”

She hummed, handing him the bottle. He took it willingly, as if to drown his words. 

“Not sure. Had lovers, but love?” Sa’lyn tilted her head. “It’s always been something else to do.”

“What about now?”

She watched him, as if testing to see if he would elaborate on those words. He stared her down, as if predicting what she was going to say.

“You really want to know?” She had a sly grin, nudging him with her weight on his lap.

“Curious.”

She rolled her eyes, snatching the wine from him. “Ask me a different question.”

“Favorite place?”

“Really? 

“Don’t be evasive.” He prodded her.

She thought briefly, her lips hovering on the mouth of the wine bottle. “There’s a lake in Orlais. I swear you couldn’t see the end of it. I used to play in it as a kid. It was like nothing happened there, nothing bad I guess.”

She drank. He shifted beneath her legs, and she swore she heard him sigh. 

“Lake in Ferelden. It was always an escape from my siblings when they were too loud, which was all the time.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Remind me to take you sometime.”

“Mm.” She pressed against him, unsteadily gripping the bottle. “Will you now?”

If she was sober, she would have cursed herself and bit her tongue for being reckless. But her mind was careless and her heart light.

Cullen leaned close as if to indulge her before taking the bottle from her grip. “Maybe.”

Her grin was close to consuming her face. “It sounds like a date, Commander.”

“And it sounds like you have had too much to drink.”

“Asking questions about one another while sharing alcohol is a great form of bonding.” She reasoned, “Just ask Bull, we know a lot about each other.”

His look asked the question for him, his smile now slipping and a brow raised.

“Not like that.” Sa’lyn waved her dismissal to the idea. “I mean, he’s a spy. He’s supposed to be able to figure people out. He had you done up the first day back in Haven.”

He snorted, looking away as if she had him exposed. “I have no doubt he did.”

She bumped her shoulder into his as a reassurance. “Don’t worry Cul, he didn’t get all of your secrets.”

“As if I had any in the first place.” He drank, far more than she anticipated. Cullen moved his legs from underneath her’s, putting his head back against the headboard. “No one can keep secrets now, all things considered.”

She let her head rest on his shoulder - a solid weight in the sea of her thoughts. Their light-heartedness had vanished, replaced with reality and its’ ever intrusive thoughts.

“What do you fear the most?” She ran her thumb over the glass rim. “Over everything - above all.”

Cullen was quiet. She could hear his breathing through her own thoughts, wondering all of what that man worried about at night and toiled over. She could feel him beneath her cheek, every ounce of who he was just within reach. 

“I fear… Losing my mind to lyrium. I fear we might yet fail. I’m afraid of losing those I love.”

Love. 

It felt hard for her to breathe. Through the haze she could feel her rational thoughts trying to piece themselves together. She tried to drown her apprehension, but it was almost too obvious.

Her answer would lame in comparison but there was enough silence that seemed to ask for a returning answer. His were rational, but her’s was almost childish.

All of this was impulsive when she started. Now it was like trying to catch light - impossible, and harder to do as it slipped through her fingers. It seemed they only ever talked about fear and their vulnerabilities but she would show him _why_.

She handed him back the bottle, feeling her grip slip away as she leaned up from her spot on the bed, scattering a few piles of papers. She had already begun lifting her nightwear up when Cullen let out a noise of bewilderment, probably wondering why she was out of her mind. 

“Sa’lyn--”

She ignored him. She could feel the cool night air on her skin and the prickle of irrationality through the haze. She wasn’t fully exposed, but enough to where she had Cullen reeling from embarrassment.

He was distinctly avoiding looking at her. His face was redder than the wine, and looked hot to the touch. 

“Fire.” She said plainly. He looked to her, eyes catching on her shoulders. 

Her skin was like thick leather from her shoulders down the midst of her back, gnarled and uneven. The scarring didn’t cover every inch of her back, but it was distinct enough. It was apparent how it had blistered, and for how long she had said scars. 

Cullen didn’t say anything for a while, opting to watch her. She wanted to fill the silence with an explanation or words, but she knew it was obvious and was the same answer she had given him so many times before - she would not break, despite what had happened. Through the ordeals to come, she would not break like she had come so close to doing before.

She leaned back towards him, feeling a mental sharpness come back into play.

“Cullen.”

He had been close enough - she didn’t notice before how he seemed to be breathing harsher, but now it was apparent. Every moment felt stretched into an eternity with just the two of them. 

He initiated it first. One second they were staring at each other and in the next, the bottle had been abandoned and he was pulling her in for a kiss with both hands cupping her face. His stubble was prickly against her face but his lips soft.

Her heart was hammering out of her chest, but her head felt clear. This was what she wanted, and now she was here. 

It wasn’t clear to her who broke it off, only that she was looking at him with their foreheads pressed against one another. 

“We’re drunk.” He rumbled. She laughed at the obscure but true comment. 

“On shitty Orlesian wine.” She couldn’t help a grin, and there was a spark when he mirrored it.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but now that you mention it…”

“Mhm.” She grunted as she leaned against him further. The crinkle of papers and letters sounded as she sat on a few, not caring considering the circumstances. “Creators let the hangover be gentle.”

“We’re not that lucky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there are letters in here somewhere. [Thinking Emoji] ♡


	6. Gale

Cullen was not used to the Inquisitor’s quarters, despite having taken residence in her absence. 

It was two or three times the size of his own tower, and the fact it loomed over the rest of Skyhold had him wondering about the fall. It was also furnished significantly better than his tiny bed, and was warm on the coldest of nights. 

Sa’lyn had insisted he take up residence while she was away, claiming that she needed him to keep the bed warm while she went to Denerim.

He hated how convincing she could be - and now he was picking up the dozens of letters that had scattered due to a haphazardly opened window. 

None of them were his; he kept his own work tucked away at his desk. They were all his Inquisitor’s, and now they were his problem. 

Cullen had managed to get the window closed before any could fly out, but the fact stood that they had been swept up like leaves and tossed around the room. It annoyed him that they had even been left on the desk in the first place, but he had sighed and dutifully tasked himself with picking them up.

Several he had seen before. Diplomatic inquiries and offers of allegiance. Those had been presented at the War Table, and she had been given a copy by Josephine. Then there were the ones written in an entirely different language, such as Orlesian or bits of Elvhen addressed to people he had heard of through her, such as her Keeper.

The strangest one was a crude charcoal drawing. He had squinted and turned it around and upside down, but to no avail. It looked like runes considering how scribbled it was. 

It was set aside and forgotten about until he happened upon another, this time with a name. Specifically, Sa’lyn’s.

It had been done by a child, that much was obvious. This drawing was a bit more detailed than the other, having several figures and what looked like halla in the picture. Sa’lyn’s name had been written on the top, and another name scrawled on the bottom. 

Cullen wondered briefly if this was a fan from any number of families they had saved. It wasn’t unheard of - she was a hero to many. But the fact that her own name was written on there and not ‘Inquisitor’ had him doubting.

He filed it away with the other one. It wasn’t long before he came across another, and another. There were several of these drawings, all addressed to Sa’lyn by name. The signatures at the bottom all varied, as did the ‘focus’ of the picture, but they were all for her. 

He had just about sorted them into a neat pile when one was clipped to an actual letter. 

_Vianvallasem* Sa’lyn,_ it read.

_The apprentices are dying to know if you actually killed a dragon, and if they killed one, could they get their vallaslin early? I said yes, but Sarena disagrees. You know how she is._

_Atyla seems to be swearing by Mythal that you’ve also seemed to reclaim the Dales from Orlais in one night. Is it true? She refused to write her own letter and ask._

_It’s odd to be in Wycome now instead of in a camp, but the children are taking to it easily, especially since it means there are new friends to make. The shemlen don’t bother us - the Keeper and your Inquisition are making sure of that. The halla don’t appreciate the stables however. The apprentices make a game of riding them down the city roads in the meanwhile._

_The hahren are already trying to argue stories about you for Arlathvhen. It’s going to be an interesting one, and I’m glad to hear you’re having the Inquisition stationed at the gathering to protect us. I know other clans are wary, but with you and Farilis possibly coming - it will be worth it._

_The children have begged me to send you the other things included in this message. They worship you. I helped them write their names so you can thank them, of course._

_It’ll be nice to actually talk to you again, since you didn’t exactly say goodbye before you left. I’m not complaining however. We could go swimming in the lake near where Arlathvhen will be held like we used to when we were children. Of course, if you still feel the same._

_Good luck between now and when we meet again. We all wish you well, and Ghilan’nain guide your path._

_Your Friend,  
Jun’relas_

He had heard that name before - Sa’lyn and Farilis had both mentioned it in passing. With the way the letter sounded, they had to be close with the both of them. Perhaps a close clan mate - she had told him before that she had no family in her clan. 

The tone of the letter had him on edge of the ‘what if’s, but he tucked it away with the rest of the letter. 

These children adored her - that was evident enough. The various photos that had been sent was enough of a clue that she was an inspiration to them all. 

Children. He had never thought too much on them, or his future, considering how much of his life had been spent recently on the run. From the Blight to now, it was always a matter of surviving to the next day or week, let alone several years.

He tucked the letter under the stack of drawings on the desk, putting his hands on his hips to stare at the remaining mess. 

Considering what he had with Sa’lyn was so new and fragile, he had no idea what to truly think. He had feelings for her without a doubt, but he hadn’t thought too much into a family with her, let alone anyone. 

He could imagine the shrieks of children running down halls with heads of curls that rivaled his own - or perhaps straight, ginger-red hair like Sa’lyn’s. Maybe a mix. But he would expect them to look like either one of them, hopefully taking after her fearlessness and sense of justice. 

The piles of paper didn’t clean themselves up, so he sighed and knelt down once more to scoop up his mess.

Maybe she didn’t want a family. His heart clenched briefly. Maybe this was simply a result of her being homesick and her wanting to appease her physical temptations. 

There was a loud creak from the stairwell, and Cullen haphazardly shoved the letters and scraps of paper back onto the desk.

“Cul?”

The clench released, and his heart soared. 

“I’m here.”

He could hear the pleased hum from her as her feet trudged up the stairs, and Cullen saw her tired look from across the room. She made a beeline for him, not stopping to kick off her dusty armor and daggers. 

She wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her face into his metal plating like a pillow. “I missed you.”

The apprehension he carried was lifted, and he smiled back despite her not seeing. “I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Elvhen for marked


	7. Comfort

“Keeper wrote again.”

“I know.”

Sa’lyn sat facing her sister, resisting the urge to flinch as she felt a poultice from the healer touch her cut skin. It stung just as much as the sword did when it sliced at her side.

“She said she wants to visit Skyhold.”

“I’m not stopping her.”

Farilis’ eyes stared down the healer that put the bandage on her side, just over her shoulder. She rolled her eyes to her twin in an attempt to discourage her, but it was futile.

Their move on southern Orlais had been met with opposition from Corypheus and bandits. And of course, she had acted too rashly in a split second decision and hurt herself. Dozens of battles without a scratch - and here she was getting bandaged up like a child once more.

“You _will_ write her back, won’t you?”

Now the critical stare was on her. 

“ _Ma’lin_ , I’m busy hunting down a Tevine Darkspawn at the moment.” The exasperation was palpable. “When we’ve returned to Skyhold - I will.”

Farilis sighed and leaned onto her knees, watching her elder twin. “And in the meanwhile, she’ll continue to harass me.”

“You were always her favourite.”

The healer pressed a hand over the cut to perform a spell in a bid to hasten the healing process, and Sa’lyn hissed out in pain at the sharpness. They both flinched, and Farilis stood up in retaliation.

“Be mindful of your clumsiness,” she said in a dangerous tone. “Do you _want_ the Inquisitor to get killed from infection?”

“N-no.”

The wave of pain cleared, and Sa’lyn shook her head in a bid to think straight. The wound wasn’t as deep as it could have been, but it was enough to make her dizzy if pressure was applied.

“Just continue,” she said through grit teeth. Farilis tried to place her hand over Sa’lyn’s, but she barely noticed as the hand was put over the wound again.

It felt like hours had passed before she felt any difference in the area. What was once an intense throbbing soon dulled, and then she could finally breathe. 

She tilted her head back and breathed through her nose, inhaling the sweet air in a lapse for control. 

“Better.”

She could see the honey-eyed healer looking for any signs of error in their ways, but Sa’lyn waved them off.

“Thank you, dismissed.”

“Inquisitor.”

They scurried out of the tent, leaving her and Farilis alone. Her sister continued to brace her hand, and she flexed it in a test. It was not like her twin to be quiet when she often spoke her mind.

“If you have something to say, say it.”

“Who says I do?”

“You have been clung to my side since we got to camp.” Sa’lyn relaxed her shoulders, moving her head down to stare at her sister. “You’re only this way if you have something to ask.”

She could perfectly reflect her own poker face if she tried, but Farilis was always weaker when it came to concealing her emotions. The mage dropped her hand and stood up. She went to the tent entrance and closed the flaps shut, making sure they would not be disturbed. When it was secured, she turned and faced her sister once more.

“Are you…” She seemed to hesitate, voice dropping low. “In a relationship with _that Templar_?”

Sa’lyn raised an eyebrow. “Which Templar?”

“Your Commander.”

“You mean Cullen.”

She could see the annoyance rising in her sister from the crease in her forehead.

“You didn’t see his reaction today when word spread you had been injured - he nearly tore the arms off of one of the Red Templars and sent a squad to help you.”

“Helping the only person capable of stopping Corypheus isn’t a sign of a relationship--”

“He’s in your quarters more than _I_ am, more than anyone else! I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Sa’lyn stared at her, not looking for an excuse - simply to understand her twin’s motive.

“And you don’t hide your own attraction to him, either.” 

“And what do you want me to say?” She broke eye-contact off with Farilis, staring off in the tent.

“I want to know the truth. It’s the least you could do.” Her voice was colder than the ice spells she had thrown out earlier.

“Then yes.”

“You realize _what_ will happen if this gets out,” her voice dropped to a hiss. “What the clan will think.”

“You act as if I don’t know that already--” 

It was her turn to snap, green eyes flaring. She winced at the pain in her side, and Farilis reached in concern. 

“I have have far more pressing concerns at the moment.”

“But I don’t--”

“Inquisitor--”

The tent flap opened suddenly to reveal Cullen, and the two whipped their heads to regard him. He clearly hadn’t planned on seeing Farilis there.

“Cullen.” 

“I can leave, I apologize--”

“No,” Farilis cut him off. Sa’lyn worried she would act rashly, but she simply made sure her side was back to the dull throbbing before stepping away. “We can continue this later.”

Sa’lyn said nothing in response, offering a small dip of the head. It said more than she would be able to put into words. _I’m sorry. I want you to understand. I don’t want this to hurt you. I am capable of thinking for myself._

She left them alone in the tent, not giving Cullen a second look at she walked past.

There they stood in the quiet tent, and Sa’lyn ran a hand through her choppy hair.

“Is… everything alright? Between you and...”

“She knows about us.”

“Oh.”

He moved further into her tent, and she stood to regard him fully. His brown eyes were avoiding her own, but still he reached out for her.

“I heard you had gotten hurt, I wanted to see if you were alright.”

The concern in his voice had her head swimming. 

“I'll be back on the front again.” Sa’lyn closed the distance between them, putting her head on his chest and closing her eyes. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her shoulders and head. “We can’t stop. Not when there are the rifts and the Eluvian.”

He didn’t say anything in reply. She could feel the weight of his head rest on her own, his arms holding her tight.

They stood like that for enough of a time that she could feel the gradual waves of exhaustion take root. In all of it, he was a calm in the storm of their campaign in the Arbor Wilds - in these small, brief moments they could steal themselves away from their titles and the weight they carried.

“If it helps,” his voice was soft, with a flair of faux annoyance. “ _Mia_ won’t stop trying to pry.”

She snorted. “Because you _like_ to write about me.”

“Of course I do -” She could imagine the color rising to his cheeks. “... she wants to meet you, when we return to Skyhold.”

Sa’lyn raised her head to look at him, opening a single eye. His face had been red, as guessed.

“What?”

“She’s insisted, even if…” He stopped, choosing his words. “Others don’t know.”

She didn’t add on her own apprehensions. They had Corypheus on the run, but he was still dangerous. They had no clue when they would get back, even if they survived.

“My Keeper wants to visit Skyhold.”

He looked more surprised by that than she was about his news.

“Do you want her to visit?”

She shrugged one shoulder, pressing her head against him again. 

“I don’t know. She keeps writing me, but she doesn’t seem to think that I’m out here, fighting, for all of our sakes.”

“I see.”

“She also _doesn’t_ know about us.”

He held her shoulders close.

“Would you tell her? Or would…”

She answered his unasked question. “Farilis won’t.”

“Ah.”

They stood in silence. The exhaustion that had taken root was making its way up her body, through her hands and to her head. She wanted to sleep, but in this moment his comfort was a better remedy.

“Cullen, I love--”

“Inquisitor!”

The tent flap opened once more, and Sa’lyn wished she was a mage for a split second to freeze them in their tracks. They broke apart suddenly, and she regarded the intruder with coldness. Her side was aching again.

“What?”

The messenger hadn’t fully entered the tent initially, making it seem that the Inquisitor and Commander were talking about the battle, nothing _more_. She thanked the Creators for the brief luck, but she was still seething.

“I have a message, from the Keeper of Clan Lavellan.”

“You can take it to Consul Lavellan--”

“They said it was for the Inquisitor’s eyes only.”

She gave a wary look to the boy, taking the letter. They saluted, turning on their heel and sprinting out of the tent. She broke the seal of the letter, eyes skimming over the words. 

_No contact… only you sister... Irresponsible… Stubborn… At Skyhold… Remaining there until your return…_

Sa’lyn wanted to scream. She made creases in the paper from her grip, and Cullen noticed.

“What is it?”

“My mother,” she grit her teeth. “Is at Skyhold.”

There were reasons why she never saw eye to eye with Deshanna, but this was pushing it. She _knew_ Sa’lyn was in the Arbor Wilds, and yet she had taken the initiative to leave their clan in the middle of war and take across the sea - nevermind their clan had already had problems before the Inquisition’s intervention. She folded the paper up with a cold fury, throwing it onto her cot out of annoyance. 

“Called me _irresponsible_.” She glowered. “I don’t see _her_ sealing rifts, fighting _gods_...”

Cullen brought himself to her, and she wanted to sleep in his arms as they had done nights before - laying underneath a sea of stars, listening to one another breathe through the prickle of wariness. What would people think of the Herald of Andraste and her Commander?

It wasn’t as if people had their rumors. 

“I love you.”

The soft remark lifted the fog of exhaustion from her shoulders, and she wanted to bury herself in his embrace. Away from the war, from the campaign - only in their quiet moment. He looked at her with a simple understanding that he knew fully well what burdens she carried, and she the same.

She ran her hands up his shoulders to his neck and head, bringing him down just slightly for a kiss.

Damn her thoughts, and thus she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr for all of my characters/writing/art stuff, as well as some memery! 
> 
> Drop me a follow if you want fanfic updates there, or if you have any questions/comments/concerns!
> 
> viir-banalras.tumblr.com ♡


	8. Curse

It had become a habit of Cullen’s to wake in the Inquisitor’s quarters - thankfully a pleasant one. 

She was insistent and stubborn, of course, and he had always done his best to conveniently wind up in her tower at the end of the night. 

It was easier before the Arbor Wilds - they had plans and military strategies to review. Now with Corypheus on the run and without an army, they were waiting for his move. 

And that meant making up creative excuses if anyone asked why he was with Sa’lyn. 

Most of Skyhold already knew. The gossips were relentless, and he _knew_ Sera had made a point to broadcast it to everyone else when she saw him heading to her door, followed by her cackles. 

He blinked in the darkness of Sa’lyn’s quarters. The fire had died out to embers, so he had been asleep for a few hours for once, and he couldn’t remember the dream. 

A victory, considering nightmares often waged wars in his head every night.

There was no familiar warmth next to him, and in his haze he reached out in the gap to search. The blankets and covers were disturbed, but the bed cold in her stead.

He huffed a sigh, looking out into the room from his rather comfortable spot in bed. The moonlight spilled through the stained glass where the stairs were, taking the all the colors with it and onto the floor. He could see the faint outline of her desk and chaise, but no Sa’lyn.

The balcony doors were open - something he remembered distinctly being closed the night before. She had made some offhand remark about not wanting Corypheus to somehow fly in, and he laughed at the obscurity. 

He squinted in the darkness. 

“Sa’lyn?” His voice was raspy from sleep, but he saw movement in the shadows.

“I’m here.”

Her voice was distant, but firm. He saw her duck in from the darkened balcony and retreat to bed once more, crawling in beside him. 

“Did you miss me?” Even with the faint moonlight, she glowed. She caressed his side with feather light touches, and part or him couldn’t resist a rumble.

“Mm.”

She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and he snaked an arm around her side and drew her close. There wasn’t a protest from her as she pressed her head against his. 

In a perfect world, he would have fallen back to sleep immediately. However, lying awake in bed with his lover would have to do. With the way Sa’lyn readjusted herself several times, it was obvious that it would be the same. 

They laid in silence for a while before she spoke. 

“Deshanna wants me to leave the Inquisition. After we defeat Corypheus.”

A tense silence followed. They had both been on edge since her Keeper came to Skyhold. The fact that they kept their relationship coordial in public was enough to prevent her from assuming anything, but it had only seem to have gone downhill from there. She commanded authority and an eerie sense of favoritism between her daughters - something that Sa’lyn artfully ignored upon their arrival back from the Temple of Mythal.

When he had returned, he had _heard_ Keeper Deshanna before he saw her. The abrasive tone towards the Inquisitor as opposed to the merely clipped one to Farilis had set him on edge. She didn't seem to relish in the favoritism, but she did nothing to stop Sa’lyn and the Keeper from arguing in the War Room several times during her visit.

“Does she realize that you’re the Inquisitor, and not a recruit?” His foot nudged her’s briefly in prompting.

“It seems they’re the same to her.” She shrugged in response, moving her lips over his bare shoulder. “But Corypheus isn’t dead yet.”

The possibilities tugged at his heart.

“What will you do when he’s dead?” He didn’t stop himself from asking, but he did struggle to keep his voice even. “Will you leave?”

“I don’t know... I’ve thought about it, but how can I go back to before the Conclave?” She didn’t look at him. “Who else could be Inquisitor?”

“It’s a big role to fill.”

“I know.” She pressed her head into his side.

“You don’t _have_ to leave the Inquisition.”

“I know that too.”

He took her hand into his - not the marked one that she kept tucked away like a wound. They were rough like his, covered in nicks and calluses, but they were gentle and cautious.

She could leave him if she wanted. He stared at the ceiling as he ran his thumb over the groves of her hand. It gnawed at him. If what they had was truly fleeting, he wasn’t confident he could keep her here by feelings alone.

“What about you?”

His thoughts broke at her voice.

“What?”

“What will you do after we kill Corypheus?”

“I… haven’t thought on it much, considering what we’ve been up against,” he started. “At first it was a matter of survival, but now we have him on the run with the hope that the Inquisition will succeed.”

He felt her move up, and he turned to look at her. Her hair - once short and choppy - now brushed against her shoulders and over her face like a veil. She moved the hand he held around his and squeezed.

“Don’t give me the ‘Commander’ answer.” He could see a smile on her face, but her tone implied seriousness. “I want the Cul answer.”

He wanted her to stay. Cullen Rutherford - a man who once believed himself to be alone forever in a world falling apart wanted something for himself. It was a selfish thing that he _knew_ he would have never had if all the bad things didn’t happen to him. Kinloch wasn’t taken over by Uldred, if Kirkwall didn’t collapse on itself with the Rebellion, if the Breach hadn’t torn open the sky and rained demons...

He shied away from her look. 

“I won’t want to move on, truthfully. Maybe the Inquisition, but not… not _you_.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. The heat in his face betrayed him, and he started to back track.

“Of course, I don’t know what _you_ want, that is, _if_ you wanted to… stay.”

He tried to face from her completely in a bid to save face if she didn’t reciprocate the feeling, but cupped his face with the marked hand. He could feel the energy of the Anchor thrumming in time with her heartbeat - a cursed drum in a forgotten war.

“Cullen.”

It was a gentle reassurance. He let himself be guided to look at her.

“Even if I leave the Inquisition, I won’t leave _you_.”

His heart soared where it was predestined to fall. Sa’lyn drew herself in for a kiss, and his apprehensions melted away as she pressed her body into his. Part of him even wanted to laugh at the fact he feared her leaving him.

Their faces were inches from each other in the moment following, and the silence spoke volumes.

“So you’re staying?”

Her laugh was honey as she laid her head on his shoulder.

“Creators, Cul. I love you. I’m staying.”

“But what about your Keeper?”

“I could care less what she demands of me.” Her lips found his neck, and heat flared inside of him. “I’ve bigger priorities.”

He tilted his own head back into the pillows as she teased her fingers down his chest, and a shiver of anticipation shot through his body.

“Sa’lyn--”

His voice was cut off by an explosion outside of Skyhold. Green light cut through the darkness, illuminating the room from the inside and out. Sa’lyn pulled away from him in a choked cry, clutching the flaring anchor as she ran to the balcony. 

He followed in a rush, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw it.

“He opened it. He reopened the Breach.”

The Breach churned like an uneasy ocean in the sky. It was harsh and violent, far worse than the Conclave.

Cullen looked to Sa’lyn. Her face was a calm in the storm, but he knew it was the acceptance of an end. 

“Arm what troops we have. We end this now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♡♡♡ We're almost done with this piece. I plan on starting my novelization of Dragon Age Inquisition VERY soon after this, so there'll be more Cullyn. ♡ If you like this and modern AUs, consider checking out Falling Into God's Grave. It's about to get very intense, but it's kinda longish. 
> 
> viir-banalras.tumblr.com 
> 
> As always, I love comments. ♡♡♡


	9. Hope

Returning to Skyhold always earned eager crowds looking to see the Herald of Andraste. They pushed against one another to see her riding in with the emblazoned Inquisition heraldry on her chest, accompanied by a small army waving banners in her name.

It left Sa’lyn breathless in the way it twisted her stomach. She had never enjoyed the center of attention during the war with Corypheus; she was used to being looked down upon after the Conclave and being called a knife-ear upstart, but it was the reverse after they killed him.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch, and her heroism amplified. 

It also meant coming home. Though none of her advisors or Inner Circle waited for her at the gates, they would be in Skyhold.

The crowd dispersed as her mount was led to the stables and she dismounted. There were a few messengers looking for her ear, and she half-listened to them as she dusted herself off. Most of the urgency had died off at the end of the war - now she was out slaying dragons and sealing any remaining tears in the Veil. 

They followed her into the Great Hall, where a few people saluted and bowed as she passed. She released the latches on her helmet, removing it and shaking her hair free. It was clinging to her neck thanks to the beating sun. 

“Any remaining letters can be delivered to my advisors,” she announced, turning to face the small crowd. They nodded, and she was left alone in the busy hall. 

Sa’lyn made a beeline for her quarters. She had spent the whole day riding from Highever for a small envoy, and now her body ached. Her armor had banged against her back and rear thanks to the unsteady roads of the Frostbacks, and she wished for nothing more than sleep. She deftly took off piece after piece as she climbed up the staircase of her tower, shaking off plating and straps as the door got closer.

No one was in her room. Farilis had taken to hiding herself after Corypheus’ death; she attributed it to Solas’ disappearance and the now empty position of a Fade and Elven specialist. Those who remained of her Inner Circle had either been summoned elsewhere in Thedas or had ventured out from Skyhold for weeks at a time. Vivienne was one such example, as was Sera and Blackwall.

Even Cullen was nowhere to be seen. Sa’lyn pushed away her mild disappointment as she chucked her armor at the chaise in front of the hearth. Her helmet was the last to land as she kicked off her boots. The temptation to sleep in her under armour clothing was overwhelming, but her desk was the first stop. The secondary throne of the Inquisition where she stamped every letter with promises of visiting or solving another problem. 

She slumped into the chair, leaning onto her elbows as she stared at the stack of letters and papers that seemingly stared back. They were piling up even before she left for Highever.

Never a moment’s rest even _after_ Corypheus.

Each flowery message addressed to her blurred into the other. Nonsense and empty words with wanting to get something out of her. A favor or a request, it annoyed her like a dying fire. It would pass - it always did - but for the moment it still burned.

A rapt knocking snapped her from her reading.

“Enter,” she called, albeit warily. A messenger shot up the stairs, making a beeline for her desk. They saluted her with a letter viciously gripped in hand.

“Inquisitor, ser! The Commander has requested your presence urgently in the gardens!”

She was presented with the note, and they turned on their heel and sped off down the stairs, slamming the door to her quarters.

It was folded carefully, but it was definitely Cullen’s handwriting hastily written.

_Sa’lyn,_ it read. Her title of ‘Inquisitor’ had been scratched out, as had her clan name.

_Meet me in the gardens as soon as you can. I’ve something to ask of you - nothing on paper._

_Yours,_  
_Cullen_

She furrowed her brows hard. Cullen was hardly ever cryptic - that was her own specialty. She stood from her chair and left the note open on her desk, going past the chaise and putting on some slip ons as opposed to her full set of armor once more.

With them on, she headed back down her tower with a second wind of energy. It had to be important for him to send a messenger _and_ a letter, as opposed to him simply finding her. She avoided tripping over her own feet as she hopped down the stairs. Even the gardens were such an unusual place, part of her wondered if this was a request for chess - they hadn’t played for several weeks.

No one paid her any mind as she slipped through the main hall and into the garden. What struck her was the silence from the usually busy area, save for two people standing in the center.

Cullen was there, accompanied by Farilis of all people. That wasn’t a good sign - they hardly enjoyed the other’s company, especially Farilis.

Sa’lyn jogged into the gardens, calling. “I came as fast as I could. Is something wrong? Did I miss something?”

Farilis glanced to Sa’lyn, but looked away after a moment. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in a show that she knew too well was a sign of his nerves. 

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong.”

She wasn’t fully convinced.

“Then why are you near one another,” she accused briefly. “I know for a fact that you two will fight if put within range of each other, _alone._ ”

“The Commander asked me a question and a favor,” Farilis’ tone was curt, but straightforward. “Regarding you.”

That gave her pause. “Me?”

“Sa’lyn, I had-” Cullen stopped, wringing out his hands with a sigh. “I had a question for you.”

“What is it?” She couldn’t help her unease. 

They stood in tensioned silence as Cullen seemed to choke on his words. Farilis watched the pair of them carefully, still as a statue. She spoke up after a minute passed with no response.

“He asked for my blessing.”

Confusion swarmed in her head. Farilis’ blessing?

“For what? What do you need her blessing for--”

“To marry you.” Cullen blurted out, having found his voice.

The world went still for a moment as they looked at one another. Sa’lyn had once considered marriage when she was young, but now…

“Marriage?” Part of her wanted to laugh - and she did - at the obscurity. “Creators, Cullen…”

He moved towards her without hesitation, taking in a breath of courage. “Sa’lyn, I… love you, more than I could even begin to imagine.”

It was very clear to her that he meant every word, and she believed it. 

“Marriage though… it’s…” Her objections died out into a whisper. She was the Inquisitor, and he her Commander. They had their shy kisses and nights in bed together, but marriage was something else entirely. A political and mental game that she had no stakes in. “... A lot.”

“I know, I just thought… with Corypheus dead, I’ve thought of little else,” Cullen confessed. Her heart stuttered. “It would be an honor to have you as my wife if you… wanted that.”

They stared at each other for a long time. She didn’t know when they started holding hands until they were. She breathed in, and out. Even breaths. 

“Cullen, I - I will. I will.” She couldn’t help a grin. Her heart was a bird freed from its cage. “... I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done!! <3 <3 <3 You guys don't know how much I love writing this stuff. Like. Honest. It's the best. 
> 
> On the fence about writing either my Sa'lyn DAI Novelization next, an AU of In Hushed Whispers, or FIGG. That's a thing too. I gotta finish up the chapter I'm writing but it's been such a pain in the ass OTL. Any suggestions...?
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more little bits of Sa'lyn and Cullen! I plan on putting my smaller drabbles on there, and maybe throw them all into one giant compilation on here when I get a variety. viir-banalras.tumblr.com <3


	10. Fate

Before the Blight, an apprentice at Kinloch once told Cullen that all ends are beginnings. It had been before their Harrowing, and they passed it with flying colors. 

He hadn’t wondered much of what became of the mage in the years following, but the quote stuck throughout all the years he had managed through.

When the Exalted Council began, he had thought of it as an end. An end to the Inquisition - considering Ferelden and Orlais coming together to force a change - but no one has expected the Qunari, and the ‘Dread Wolf’, and the mark…

He clenched his own fists. Iron Bull was leaning on the same wall next to him, as was Varric and Cassandra. He didn’t meet any of their looks, but he knew that they were wondering what he was feeling. Part of him was thankful Cole wasn’t nearby to shed light on them.

They had dragged Sa’lyn from an Eluvian. She had said it was the only way for them to get to the Darvaarad. She knew what it meant - he had faith in her judgement - but the look he shared with Josephine and Leliana knew it was only her. Then the anchor flared again, with such an explosion of power he thought she would tear a rift in their makeshift War Room.

It had been happening before the Exalted Council, but with Solas gone, who could do anything about it? Farilis had admitted her own ignorance, saying that the magic of the mark was something beyond her prowess. Dorian and Vivienne had said the same in their own words, and other ‘expert’ mages of the Fade did nothing but gawk. 

Seeing her, his _wife_ with her arm a black and green mass in Bull’s arms had him in hysterics. He was no better now, but Varric managed to talk him down from the chaos in his head - for what good it did.

Now they sat in silence outside of her room. The healers had swarmed Bull after Cassandra’s shouts woke Halamshiral. He had been pacing outside the Eluvian, and the scene just kept repeating itself over and over and over again. Of her. As good as dead in their friend’s arms.

Breathe. In. Out. Repeat.

She couldn’t die - not with the world on the brink of war again. The Qunari were making unknown advances despite Josephine claiming they weren’t in their letters. Yet he knew they were involved in their own espionage, just as everyone else was. How else would the Qunari Blackpowder have been placed? That’s what he had heard Bull tell Leliana anyways.

Now he was waiting, as was everyone else.

The door clicked, and it felt like a shockwave. Their heads collectively snapped up to bore questions from the head healer, but his blank eyes gave them nothing. With the way they stepped to the side, he took it as invitation enough to go forwards.

The candles illuminated enough for his heart to break further. She was cast in flickering shadows and flame, her scuffed and battered face calm despite earlier. He couldn’t help but stoop to her side, all the fear and worry welling from his chest. 

Her left hand was gone - her entire forearm was missing and what was left of her upper arm was wrapped in a clean bandage. It was one thing to imagine the damage, but to see it in person was gravitational. 

He grasped her only hand. The healer was saying something, but Cullen wasn’t listening. It was all echoes that were too distant to make out. Even if Bull or Cassandra were saying something, he couldn’t tell. 

Varric’s hand on his shoulder snapped him from his focus, but he didn’t meet his face. He didn’t say anything to prompt a remark from him, and he was thankful for the silence.

Visitors swirled in and out for a while. Members of the Inner Circle paid their regards, asking for news to be sent their way if her condition changed, to which he agreed in his own way. He didn’t _want_ to leave her side. To leave her now was leaving too much at risk - she was capable but hurt, and she had done enough already. So he remained, half-awake in a chair beside her.

He eventually did leave her side to direct troops in the fallout of the Exalted Council. With Orlais and Ferelden in a frenzy, they needed order and stability. Cullen could and would attempt his best impression of both, but his head was a cluttered mess, wondering of what would happen. It was clear their fate was no longer in their own hands, and the countries that held them on trial would force a decision regardless of how they felt.

Even if Sa’lyn were awake to argue, there were whispers now that she would have no choice but to follow what they decided. He had done his best to quell such rumors, but they all bore on him like the tide. 

He had gotten a message from Leliana that Sa’lyn had woken up, and he had nearly knocked over a desk and two scouts in the rush. Maintaining composure was futile as he bolted down towards where she had been.

He would not have been surprised if he had cracked the door when he opened it. 

“Cul.”

Her voice was creaky and her eyes half asleep, but her smile calmed his banging heart. He swooped upon her, holding her right hand and pressing a light kiss against her bruised knuckles. 

“I… Maker, Lyn, I was so scared.” His words tumbled out of his mouth. There was no point in stopping himself. “I… Please.”

He held her fist in his hands. His words felt lame in a prayer. “Please.”

Sa’lyn didn’t respond, save for the soft sigh as she laid back down. He did not look at her.

“They want me to step down.”

“I don’t know.”

“Leliana already told me.” She took her hand back, taking his instead. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Cullen tried to swallow, but his mouth went dry. She looked to have aged since she stepped through the Eluvian the last time. There were creases at her eyes and a ghost to her smile. Weeks ago it had been so carefree, but now there was the burden of authority. 

“Don’t go out there and try to insist we fight this war as is, Lyn.” He was talking before he realized. “We can’t - not now, after this…”

Her hand left his and cupped his face, bringing it up to look her square in the face. There he felt himself drawn to her, pressing nothing short of a bittersweet kiss on her lips. It wasn’t pressuring or lustful or anything in between; it was desperate and hopeful and remnicent of the first time they were drunk and daring and telling sweet nothings between each other in the middle of the night with wine on their breath. Of all the times they were there for one another and the walls pressed down on them. Where all the stars in the night sky couldn't help but stop and watch them.

She breathed against his lips, a confirmation.

“I have to. For all of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I hope you all enjoyed this little mini-series, it was so much fun to write! ♡ I have futher plans for Sa'lyn and Cullen, so their journey doesn't end here. ♡♡ 
> 
> viir-banalras.tumblr.com ♡


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